


Muted

by Kangarooney



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Abuse, Cassian Feyre friendship, F/M, Feyre just wants kids, Gen, cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-05 05:48:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16362047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangarooney/pseuds/Kangarooney
Summary: I should warn you: There is a lot of cursing in this fic. Also, this deals with some heavy stuff, as you can probably tell by the warnings. Please don't read if you will be triggered by such content.--“I swear to fu**,” She continued, trying to grab him without opening her eyes. “If you don’t close those blinds this instant, I’m going to strip your a** next time you come home wasted and dump you outside on the balcony, without any Advil or water, all night and the next morning. I am not even fu**ing with you.”





	1. Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> I gotta say this before you read anything else: Shit fam, I don't know what happened. It got away from me.

“Oh my god, Cassian, can you _please_ close the blinds?” Feyre groaned, shielding her eyes from the painful sunlight making its way into her room. Cassian, her wicked roommate and best friend – although, the latter was definitely in question, given the situation – chuckled and ignored her plea. “I swear to fuck,” She continued, trying to grab him without opening her eyes. “If you don’t close those blinds this instant, I’m going to strip your ass next time you come home wasted and dump you outside on the balcony, without any Advil or water, all night and the next morning. I am not even fucking with you.”

“Dammit, Feyre.” Cassian whined, moving to block the unwanted daylight. “Why are you so cruel?”

“’M not the one who was toying with a hungover friend.” She deadpanned back, stretching out on the couch, and opening her eyes at last. God that was painful. “Ugh, what was in the alcohol last night? I feel like someone ran me over with a green double-decker, school bus.”

“Mm. That is an oddly specific description.” Cassian hummed back, sitting down on the couch beside her. He reached out and tugged her against his chest.

“Oh shut up, asshole.” Feyre settled into his arms, slumping against him. Despite their constant bickering, and the headache that threatened to explode her brains, Feyre’s favorite spot after a long night of drinking was Cassian’s arms. Hey, it wasn’t her fault he was just so damn comfy. “What’s for breakfast?”

Cassian laughed aloud, the rumble causing Feyre to jerk forward and backwards with him. “First you curse me, then you beg me for favors? Feyre, love, you need to reorder your priorities. But,” he continued when Feyre began to move away. “I have prepared a work of art that someone of your caliber will appreciate in more than one sense: artistically I have made scrambled eggs to portray your brains- _ack!_ ”

Feyre had rolled over on his chest and had her hands around his neck. She giggled when his eyes went wide. “What was that, oh Cassian, darling? Do my brains seem all that scrambled to you?”

“Given the current, ahem, current state of affairs,” Cassian strangled out, “I’d say yes, your brain has definitely been scrambled.” Feyre released her hold on his neck and stared into his eyes. “But Feyre, if you wanted to be my _mistress_ you only needed to _ask._ ” He continued, voice lowering into a husky drawl.

“Ha! If that’s how you charm all the ladies, Cassian, no wonder you’re single.” Her roommate pouted. “Now bring me my breakfast. Oh and an Advil and glass of water would be great, _thanks._ ”

Feyre squealed when Cassian shoved her off him. “Yeah you’re right.” He grumped, standing up and grinning at where Feyre was now sprawled on the floor. “I’ve sunk way low; I’m just your little bitch.” He pressed the back of his hand against his forehead before flouncing towards the kitchen.

Somehow, and don’t ask Feyre this because despite having lived with Cassian for several years now, she was not his keeper – and damn, imagine trying to be _Cassian_ ’s keeper? That was probably a twenty-four-seven job; but she digressed. Somehow Cassian, a six-foot-two, muscular to the point of ripping his shirt every time he flexed, macho man had mastered the art of flouncing. Something which, Feyre herself, couldn’t do without cracking up laughing past two steps; and yet, there was Cassian, dramatically throwing his hips side-to-side as if his life depended on the movement.

He was such a spaz.

* * *

Feyre groaned when a bright light lit up the world behind her eyelids. She ached everywhere and for the life of her she couldn’t remember _why_. Just then, a rough hand pressed against her brow and a thumb rubbed her temple. The pressure was soothing and chased away the headache that threatened the edges of her mind. A body settled against hers and an arm fell across her body, pulling her snug into the hold of the other person.

“Feyre dear.” Murmured the person, breath light against the shell of her ear. “Wake up, dear.”

Feyre resisted opening her eyes, the memories of the night before rushing back. Breathy moans and grunts of passionate lovemaking filled her chest to bursting and she snuggled closer into the arms of her _husband_. “ _Tamlin_.” She replied with a grin. “My husband, _oh_ that’s perfect.” She finally opened her eyes to the sight of his face, lit up with joy at her declaration.

“I love you, wife of mine.” His eyes sparkled, the desire clear as the sun lighting their room.

“I love you too, oh husband dearest.” Feyre darted in, placing a small peck at the corner of his mouth right where her favorite freckle was. “Come Tamlin, the ache between my thighs is not nearly deep enough. We made plenty of love last night, I’d love if you would _pound me_ into this mattress.”

Tamlin’s eyes darkened to the point of ebony, whereon he rolled over her and whispered a simple _as you wish_ , before carrying out her request.

Feyre writhed and moaned beneath his ministrations and brute-like intensity. Oh, she could get used to this.

 _Tamlin was the best decision she ever made_.

* * *

When Feyre was five, her family moved to Michigan. Their new home was colder than Maryland and snowed a lot more. Their house had the best yard for making snowmen and snow-angels and Feyre loved it. They had a shed behind the garage for her mother’s landscaping tools, and her father put together a swing set he ordered in the mail so they could touch the sky whenever they felt so inclined.

Feyre loved the swing set.

When Feyre turned six, she invited all of the neighborhood kids to her party and they took turns on the swing between chocolate, cake, and games. Feyre said they were all welcome to use her swing set whenever they wanted to, and for a few weeks after the party she had friends over every day. Soon though, only a handful were coming over, until there was only one who came every day he could.

Lucien was going to be her best friend forever.

When Feyre was seven, Lucien made her pinky-promise to keep his secrets from her family. In the solemn surety of a child, Feyre never told her parents about the bruises Lucien showed her on his chest; and when she found him hiding in her family’s shed, she snuck blankets and pillows and food out to him and they had a slumber party behind the snow-blower. When Feyre couldn’t sleep outside with him, she made sure he had plenty of food to eat and always was out in time to say goodbye. Goodbyes weren’t fun, but she knew he’d come back.

Lucien always came back.

When Feyre was eight, Lucien didn’t come back. She waited, thinking it was a gap between visits and knowing that he would come back eventually. Her parents made Feyre and her sisters be inside before dark because the “Vanserra’s little boy had been taken, so soon after the Claire girl in Deverton,” which was annoying because then she couldn’t check the shed every night before she went to bed. She made sure to fill up the basket with food every week though, so he must have been by a few times.

Feyre missed Lucien.

When Feyre was nine, her parents made her wear a black dress to a party where she met Lucien’s family for the first time. His brothers all looked angry and sad and his parents looked like all grownups do, with flat faces and downward curved eyes that drooped as if they always wanted naps (which made sense, since her own parents seemed so obsessed with making Feyre sleep). Feyre slipped from her mother’s hands when she saw a pretty box that everyone was looking at. Inside was a doll with blotchy skin and red hair. He looked like Lucien, but Feyre knew Lucien could never lay so still, he was pretty terrible at hide-n-seek. He was good at carving figures from soap, though, so she guessed maybe that’s what he did here. If her parents frowned half as much as his family did, she’d probably want to play hide-n-seek too.

“Come out, come out wherever you are.” Feyre really missed Lucien.

Why was she crying?

* * *

Mean brothers don’t become murderers.

* * *

When Feyre was 19, she married Tamlin, a British twenty-eight-year-old executive who was living in Detroit. He showered her with presents on their first date and she hated him. But on the second date they went hiking and he told her that he had never met someone as beautiful as her and he was glad he hadn’t met her when she was in high school or he would likely have been sent to jail for being a pervert. Feyre thought he was hilarious. They dated for one year until he knelt down on one knee and proposed.

They had a whirlwind wedding and incredible honeymoon.

When Tamlin came home, six months into their marriage, Feyre greeted him by pressing herself against his body and carding her fingers through his hair. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Is my surprise you?” He asked, placing his briefcase down where he stood and gathering her to him.

“No, silly.” She chuckled, breathing in his scent. “How am I surprise when you’ve known me for so long?”

“Dear, every day I see you, still with me, is a surprise and a lovely one. How do I possibly deserve you?” Tamlin placed a line of sweet kisses down her neck, hands rubbing her back. Feyre giggled back, but pushed him away regardless.

Feyre swatted his hands, stepping away, carefully. “Of course you deserve me, as I deserve you. We are each other’s loves and I am very glad for it.” She gave him a cheeky grin before sauntering away, one hand firmly grasping his. “Come, I want you to see something.”

Hands clasped, they made their way towards their room, Feyre ever so softly squeezing his hand in happiness. She reached inside and flicked on the lights before giving him a little push so as to enter first. Tamlin glanced around briefly, at first seeing nothing new; but when she gestured to her side of the room once more, he noticed the cradle set up and waiting. “A- a child? Feyre you’re pregnant?” He whirled back to her, amazement and something _else_ coloring his eyes.

Feyre dismissed the other emotion and surged forward, wrapping herself around him once more. “ _Yes_ , yes! I’m pregnant and a few weeks along. I’m due on your birthday and oh isn’t that just the best present ever?” She squealed.

* * *

“You’re not going out again, are you?” Feyre’s voice called out behind Tamlin as he put his coat on. “You went out last night; I thought maybe we could have a night in? You’d drink wine and I’d drink grape juice.” A chuckle, an acknowledgement of the child on the way. “Come on baby,” hands encircled Tamlin’s waist and cupped his chest. “Just you and me, a night in, doesn’t that sound lovely?”

Tamlin spun around in her grasp and looked down upon her beautiful face. “Oh dear, I wish I could, but this is a work thing; and you know how they get when I skip out on work things. How about this, I’ll get through this one deal and then treat you to dinner? I can’t say when the deal will pull through, but you’ll be the _first_ to know. Deal?”

Feyre sighed. “Deal. But I am the first one, no drinks with the boys before me. Got that?”

Tamlin leaned down to nuzzle her lips, “Deal.”

Another sigh as the silver jaguar pulled from their driveway. “Shh, shh, lovely baby.” Feyre murmured when the child kicked. She cradled her belly and looked out the window. “Daddy’s busy right now, but he loves you as much, if not more than he loves me. Shh. Momma’s here.”

* * *

Tamlin never had time anymore, at least not since Feyre announced her pregnancy.

* * *

“Lucien.” Feyre said gazing down at the beautiful child the nurse had placed in her arms. “His name is Lucien and he will be my best friend forever.”

The nurse chuckled, “I sure do hope so, my dear. That’s what I used to think about my boys, but oh, they do so like to fight me. Watch it, when your little Lucien reaches seventeen years old, he’ll be quite against being ‘best friends’ with his mother.” After putting away a few miscellaneous items and asking Feyre how to spell the name, the nurse left the room.

“Oh Lucien, you’ll always be my favorite little boy.” Her thoughts wandered to a redheaded seven-year old and a great big toothy grin that he reserved for her alone. This time Lucien would live past eight-years old and his life would be a fantastic one. “I promise, Lucien; you’ll live on forever.”

* * *

“What kind of name is _Lucien_ , anyway?” Tamlin asked, combing his hands through his hair.

“The name of your son.” Feyre replied. She sucked her cheeks in and leaned away from his penetrating expression. “Maybe if you’d looked at me once, in the past nine months, you could have had something to say about naming him. But, since you apparently couldn’t bear to look at my _disfigurement_ ,” at this Feyre gestured to the bump still protruding from her midriff, “you have absolutely _no_ say in naming him!”

“ _Excuse me_?” His hands jerked first to his chest, then to his face, back to his hair once more, before settling on the chair beside him. “I have been working _nonstop_ to keep food on the table, cater to your need for more and more clothes to fit your swollen body, and pay for the preparations that that child needs!”

Feyre flinched when Tamlin spat at her, his lip curled in a clear display of disgust. Shaking his head, Tamlin turned around as if to regain his composure; he violently rolled his shoulders, forcing them to relax. After taking a deep breath he turned back to face her. Meanwhile, Feyre’s thoughts were racing as she tried to understand why Tamlin had been so keen on ignoring her and their child since he found out.

Everything else in her mind blanked when a crazy thought jumped out, and before she could think to sensor herself, the words crawled from her throat despite the tightness that was forming, “Wait, do you think that he’s not _yours_?”

The room stilled. Tamlin was breathing heavily. Harsh and stilted puffs of air, in through his mouth and out through his nose. His shoulders sagged at her question and he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “You _do_ , don’t you?” Her words almost shattered the silence, and yet the _tick-tick-tick_ from the kitchen clock filled in for any other words, letting that fragile quiet remain for just a little while longer.

Together, their stares remained fixed: his on the door leading to their room shared with a newborn, hers on his face and scrunched eyebrows. She watched a drop of sweat roll from his left earlobe down his neck until the drop his collard hid it from view. When she lifted her eyes to his once more, she found him watching her. That unreadable look in his eyes was back, but now that she knew what he feared, she understood what was there.

Anguish.

The emotion explained the knots in his back when he came home from work, the increased drinking and going out, his short and tight replies every time she brought up a baby room or names. If Tamlin honestly believed his love had cheated on him and was pretending a bastard child was his… and while Feyre couldn’t fathom where he’d dragged that notion from, which was an issue she would need to sort out at a later time, she could sympathize with his struggles.

Oh, how self-centered she had been these past few months, thinking he was falling out of love with her; when in reality his love for her was _so_ great that his imagination, while terribly incorrect, was tearing him apart!

“I’m sorry.” His expression was torn, staccato breathing making him gasp. “I’ll try _harder_.” Feyre’s heart melted. “You’re so _beautiful_ , Feyre. Any man would be lucky to have you. I see them watching you and I can’t help but wonder if they _have had you_.”

* * *

“Hey Lucien, daddy loves you.” Feyre smiled as she watched her two favorite boys in the world.

* * *

“Feyre~!” Warm arms wrapped themselves around her waist from behind, the distinctive whine in the person’s voice making them easily identifiable. “Don’t go. I know you love this man and that together the both of you are going to take on the world and conquer every foe and have lots of babies and– and– you know, just be generally awesome. But,” Feyre felt the whoosh of an indrawn breath rush by her left ear, causing goosebumps to form. “But, what am I going to do without you? You know the apartment just won’t feel the same when it’s poor, old, lonely Cassian left behind!”

A blossom of joy filled Feyre’s heart and fizzed and bubbled until the glee burst outwards in the form of a giggle. “Oh Cassian, let’s be honest here. The most you’re going to miss is not having a cuddle partner when your ‘foolproof’ plans fail again; and when they don’t fall through, both you and I will be glad I’m not there to disturb your loud and raucous sexual encounters.”

Cassian spun her around and took a step back. “You wound me!” A dramatic hand was thrust against his forehead as he fell to the floor in a deep swoon.

Feyre kicked him.

* * *

“You’re moving?”

“Yeah.” He rolled his shoulders and leaned further back into his seat. “I got this great job offer in Washington state. You know Seattle, right? City with the best coffee in all of America?” He threw a grin her way, “You gotta come visit some time. I’ll show you every coffee shop under the sun–”

Feyre’s hands tightened around her own to-go cup. She was happy for him, absolutely. But recently, she’d been debating on how to tell him about Tamlin’s disinterest in her other than sexually. She’d wanted to have a girl talk on why her husband was refusing to look at her except when blasted. She understood that she needed help because she wasn’t a guy and didn’t know how they thought. But now that Cassian was moving and had a lot of packing and planning to do… a weakness spread through her muscles. She realized that, at least for the time being, her marriage was up to her now. Her future was dark and depended on her.

“–but none of that’s important anyway. What’s important is that you keep me updated on what’s going on here, I’ll update you with me, and maybe we can schedule a few skype dates every now and then!”

* * *

_Ringgg. Rinnnngg._ Feyre pressed the speaker against her ear; her knuckles were turning white from the pressure she was applying to the device. Had she been more aware and less desperate, then perhaps she’d slacken her grip a little, take a deep breath or two. But Tamlin had gone too far this time and she _needed_ her friend to be there for her.

  _Rinnnn_ – _sstss,_ “

“ _Finally_.” Feyre cried out, tears dripping down her cheeks in relief. “Thank _god_ I reached you. I need a friend right now; I don’t know what to _do_ about Tam, anymore. He’s been acting so weird, and I really need a guy’s’ perspective.”

“Um…” Crackly static filled the other side of the phone, “I’m sorry to disappoint, but I don’t think you have the right number.”

“ _Whaat?_ ” Had Feyre any pride left, she may have been ashamed of the dry, rasping noise she made. Then to herself, she wondered how she hadn’t seen this coming. She and Cassian had lost contact ages ago, from no reason other than busy schedules clashing, lost letters in the mail, and cancellations for skype. They eventually reached the point where even a phone call was beyond rare. “Yeah actually.” Her grip on the phone became loose and barely there. He’d honestly been her last hope. At this point she really had no plan. “Yeah that makes sense. Okay thank you. Have a wonderful–”

“Look.” The man interrupted her. “This isn’t my phone, my buddy’s in the shower. I can ask him if he knows your name or not, or this Tam person.”

Feyre detected a strange emotion in the man’s voice as he interrupted her, did she sense worry? But oh, she was so tired. The strength she’d conjured up to make the call had run dry as soon as the voice that wasn’t her friend’s spoke up; and now, now the relief was gone and all she felt was hollowness. Undoubtedly, this was a wrong number. Tamlin had gone through her phone and deleted all her contacts; any calls of help would be to the wrong person.

Who was the buddy in the shower anyway? For all she knew, the man was her old coworker from the elementary school she taught art at. Not someone who could help her now.

“Thank you for your offer, but…” Feyre hung up.

Then she threw her phone on the ground and stomped down, _hard_.

Asking for help had never been something she was good at, anyway. Her parents raised her better than that.

* * *

_“Cassian?”_

_“Yes, Feyre?”_

_“I’ll miss you.”_

_“I’ll miss you too, Feyre.”_

* * *

Lucien would not have the childhood his namesake had. Feyre promised herself this. So whenever Tamlin shouted or cursed, or accused her of cheating, she would make sure Lucien slept through its entirety and that Tamlin’s focus was on her alone.

He was only a baby and already had a little brother on the way. She didn’t mind the bruises so much, as long as she knew the child on the inside and the child on the outside were safe.

A mother’s duty was to her children.

* * *

“Cassian.” Feyre decided to name her second baby Cassian.

The pattern, she mused, appeared to be naming her babies after boys and men who meant the world to her but eventually left her behind. The first to a kidnapping and suicide; the second to moving away and moving on.

When she was a child, she believed Lucien would never leave her. But he did, when the kidnapper’s abuse became too great, he hung himself in the basement he was hidden inside with a piece of twine and the rafters he climbed to hide. She read the police files, they were on public records after all.

Again, growing up and moving in with Cassian, sharing many nights of drunken abandon with him; she imagined he was to be her best friend that would never leave her. Even after he moved away, they were to stay in contact. But as he grew busier, she let him have his time until now, they barely write one another.

Lucien and Cassian were her babies; and maybe the first should have been called Tamlin, to keep him from assuming the worst. And maybe by refusing to call him and invite him to name their children she was instigating their fights. And maybe he should have been the one to drive her to the hospital instead of tossing her the keys and warning her not to crash the car. But again, maybe Feyre was to blame for her marriage being in shambles. Maybe she wasn’t. As far as she was concerned, supplying sperm wasn’t enough of a contribution to merit a child being named after you.

Lucien and Cassian were wonderful and positively impacted Feyre’s life, even in their absence.

Tamlin remained. The one she almost maybe didn’t want to stay.

But Feyre promised him forever and her babies deserved a loving family. Lucien and Cassian would be each other’s best friends and maybe stay their mother’s, even during their rebellious years.

* * *

Feyre was almost ready to quit her minimum wage job and tell her father to go fuck himself and get off his ass and do something, god dammit. All day on a Wednesday during spring break, she rehearsed and memorized what exactly she was going to tell him. Other than the fact that she couldn’t possibly keep working three jobs, plaster a smile on her face in school every day, and maintain her average B’s she’d had since before she started working.

When mother died a few years back, he’d taken a couple weeks of paid mourning time to prepare funeral arrangements, explain the situation to his daughters, and grieve. He had gone back to work and for a few weeks, he had been okay. Then a work accident happened and next thing the Archerons knew, their father was incapacitated at home, receiving worker’s compensation, and draining their bank account dry.

Feyre tried to be patient; she loved her father, had loved him twice as much since her mother’s death. However, he stopped being a father when he no longer could provide. Then it was up to his children to care for him.

At some point, he either left or was let go. Then he spent every day at home, “recovering.” He promised them – Nesta, Elain, and Feyre – that once his leg healed he would start applying for jobs.

But his leg never healed and, as he promised, he never started looking.

Feyre fantasized her father would get out of his lazy chair, listen to her speech and realize he was letting his daughters down; he’d stand up, grab his cane to leave and start looking. She dreamed about how she would review his resume for him, point him towards buildings, she had seen _Hiring: apply inside_ signs outside.

 _Today_. Feyre promised herself. _Today she would convince him to live again_.

The three empty beer cans and rush of white noise from the living room dried up the words in her throat. His slumped form, melded with the lazy chair before the television, created a misshapen and disheveled creature that Feyre knew would never hear, let alone listen to her.

* * *

Moving in with her friend was weird. Moving in with her friend who was a guy felt even weirder.

But since her father went over the deep end, Feyre knew she needed to leave. Her father had taken to staring at the wall where their TV used to be, his hand loosely clasping an invisible can of beer, when alcohol was no longer affordable and his daughters unable to purchase any.

She did her best for him, after she moved out, selling the house and putting him in a one-person apartment, whose rent she paid every other month. She made sure he fed himself and had the appropriate medicine to keep his leg from aching.

Besides, Nesta had already run off with Elain in tow one night, after doing what Feyre could not, quitting her jobs and confronting their father to _look at them, dammit_. When he did little more than ask them how their day went, her sister had run upstairs and packed her bags. She was almost eighteen and had graduated from high school a year early, but hadn’t gone to college for lack of money and a desperate need to keep close to the only family she had. Yet, Nesta had declared her father too far gone and left at last.

Feyre had clung onto hope that her older sisters would contact them, perhaps with a location to visit or write. Her hope only lasted so long, however. Since none of the sisters had cell phones at the time of Nesta’s departure, only their home address was connecting the three of them. Feyre’s decision to move her father away was her way of letting her sisters go, finally.  

She was alone.

So she moved in with her friend Cassian, who was five years older than her nineteen years.

* * *

Feyre _knew_ Tamlin abused her.

But she stayed because… because why? Did she enjoy the routine of receiving injury in the event Tamlin came home angry, which he typically did? Did she crave the harsh, unforgiving sex he’d force upon her after his temper ran low? Was she so terribly desperate for a man in her life that the one she managed to catch was her self-assigned soul mate and tormentor?

No, no, and no.

Feyre knew she was a victim and had no reason for staying.

Yet, she had her children who deserved a whole family. Her children deserved college, careers, beautiful wives, and a father.

She had a father who was wasting away in an apartment, who she barely visited anymore in fear of incurring the wrath of Tamlin. Her father deserved at least one loving daughter to care for him in his old age and unchanging state, he needed love to remind him who he was, he needed food to stay alive; he needed her.

Feyre had sisters who promised to return, who might come back one day for the sister they left behind, like Nesta promised. Her sisters deserved a littlest sister to love and play dress up with, encourage to date, and coo over her children.

Feyre stayed because she had hope in her future and believed that maybe, possibly, one day Tamlin would pause and realize his mistakes. She had a husband who deserved a loving wife who’d take care of the home and children and cook him dinner and– and _even_ submit to him when he came home angry.

Feyre knew she was abused, had no reason for staying, and yet Feyre stayed anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been sitting on an SD card in my belongings since before May, after I binge read ACOTAR series and as many fics I could. This is half of what I have written. I currently have another 5k ready and waiting, but am struggling over the last couple hundred words in it, trying to figure how I want a certain confrontation to go. 
> 
> I also have the ending of the fanfiction written already, it's just that middle-to-last bit I am trying to figure out. I will likely post it next week (Oct 28th onward) because I have finals this week. 
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts/criticisms. :)


	2. Defy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for detailed abuse, child negligence, self-hatred, abandonment, and general suckiness. 
> 
> This chapter goes a bit deeper into the psychological effects of an abusive relationship/life. 
> 
> I tried to fix the end that I didn't like. I also wrote an additional 1k, editing the body. Hopefully, you enjoy. Let me know what you think! 
> 
> Fun fact: I wrote all of this in April, and then never published it because I hated the ending.

Forging her father’s signature was an easy task, since she had been doing it for her sisters and herself for years. The task was simple when Nesta left, to inform the school board that the Archerons were moving away and the girls removed from the school district.

Feyre dropped out of high school halfway through her first year.

* * *

“It’s a rough life, Cass.” Feyre murmured, buckling her youngest into the car seat. “But you’re a big strong boy and I know you’ll be just fine.”

“Momma?” Cass asked, pudgy fingers reaching for her face as she drew away. She pulled a silly face and he shrieked with joy.

A tug on Feyre’s shirt had her looking down into Lucien’s inquiring eyes. “Momma, are you okay?”

Feyre nodded and smiled warmly as she grabbed his hand and led him to the other side of the vehicle. “Of course I am, Luc. Momma’s always okay.” She picked him up.

“No you’re not, Momma.” Lucien disagreed. He wriggled around in her arms until their eyes met again. “Father was yelling again last night and then you went to the bathroom; you always go to the bathroom when you’re not alright.” While not said in an accusing manner, his expression was certainly challenging Feyre to deny his observations. He and she both knew otherwise.

Feyre worked in silence, buckling Lucien into his seat. But as she went to draw away, he caught her hand. “Let me kiss your bruises better, Momma. You always take care of me and Cass.” The younger boy giggled at his name. “Let us take care of you too!”

Feyre’s next smile was the most genuine it had been in a long time. Carefully she rolled up a shirtsleeve and unveiled the handprints marked around her forearm. Feyre quietly thanked Lucien after he kissed it better. His reply was a mischievous smile followed by a sparkly: “Anything for you, Momma!”

* * *

“You will do no such thing.” Tamlin replied, sipping his coffee as Feyre bustled about the kitchen, Lucien playing on the floor of the living room.

* * *

 

Feyre met Ianthe at the grocery store. She was a petite blonde-haired girl, giggling in a squeaky tone while speaking on the phone. She was also blocking the cheese selection and Feyre had a time limit on how long she could be out. As politely as she could, for she had no quarrel with the woman, Feyre excused herself and asked if she might squeeze by. The woman ignored her, paying more attention to whoever was on the other end of the phone.

Again, Feyre attempted to catch her attention, leaning into the woman’s vision. Sighing, the woman hushed the person on the other end and asked Feyre what she needed. “Just access to the cheese, please.” Feyre attempted a friendly smile. The woman didn’t seem to care, but still stepped aside.

At the sound of Tamlin’s name, Feyre slowed down and pretended to try to decide between store brand and a higher priced brand. (Tamlin would prefer the higher price since he could afford it; but Feyre, having dealt with near starvation before, knew there was no real difference between the two.)

The woman was hushing the other person on the phone, clearly wanting to say something. “No, no, listen to me sister. I found him on Tinder and I know- yes, I _know_ online dating is not the way to go about relationship hunting. But right now I’m just looking for a _partner_ , if you catch my drift.” Clearly, whoever was on the other line did understand, since the woman’s declaration produced a loud, indecipherable squawking from the phone. “He took me out to dinner the other night, to this new _Thai_ place on Seventh Street–”

Feyre had heard enough. She wandered around the store a bit, keeping a close eye on the woman until she hung up to stand in line for the register. Feyre collected her cart and stood behind her. “Oh hello.” She turned on her charming smile. “I believe I saw you earlier, by the cheese, I think.”

The blonde-haired woman nodded vaguely.

“Well I just wanted to introduce myself! I had no idea you, Mz. Rippa would be in town!”

The woman frowned in confusion, accepting Feyre’s hand. “I’m sorry, who?”

“You were Hayley Vaughnan from the TV show _All My Children_?”

“Oh wow, thank you I’m flattered. However, I am afraid you have me mistaken with someone else.” The woman’s demeanor was much warmer than before. As Feyre well knew, the way to a woman’s heart was through her ego. Especially bitches, like this one appeared to be. She just had that general air. “My name is Ianthe, Ianthe Riece. And you are?”

“Fiona Devinson. A pleasure to meet you and– oh, well it looks like it is your turn to check out. It was lovely speaking to you.” Ianthe replied the same before purchasing her food and departing. She even gave a little wave as she left.

Apparently, Tamlin was cheating on Feyre. A way out, at last.

* * *

 

“You _wench_!” A stinging slap to Feyre’s face had her crying out in pain. Her hands leapt to her face in protection. A hand gripped her arm and drew her closer. “How dare you embarrass me in public?” He seethed, shaking her.

Feyre’s stomach roiled the food from earlier sloshing unpleasantly within, threatening to make a reappearance. “Embarrass you?” She snarled back, anger coursing through her veins. “All I did was _talk_ to you! You know, like _most_ couples do?”

“You are my wife!” He disregarded her words, “And you shall _submit_ to me!” He picked her up and threw her onto the bed, wild rage in his eyes burning into her.

“Submit?” She yelled hysterically back. “I would submit if you _loved_ me! Not this- this- this _slavery_.”

Tamlin scoffed loudly, before holding out a set of manacles. “Oh, would you like to experience _true_ slavery, oh wife of mine?”

Feyre’s eyes widened at the cuffs. Her voice quivered, revealing the fear she’d been covering with anger. “Come now, Tamlin.” She tried to reason. “Handcuffs? Where did you even get those? Five and Below?”

His former wild anger had turned predatory as he stalked closer to the bed. “You’d like that wouldn’t you, _dear_? Unfortunately, they were all out of handcuffs at five and below. Luckily I was able to borrow a pair from Michael – oh you know our local cop?”

Right. “W-well, what are you going to do with them?” She asked, withdrawing further on the sheets as he stalked closer.

“I am going to teach you how to submit.”

* * *

“I understand why, now.” Tamlin barely glanced up from the meal they were eating. He’d taken her out to a fancy new Thai place that had opened recently. “For so long I wondered how your love changed so quickly to hate. However, I had a realization, last night, when you changed Cass’s diaper. I think I’ve known for a while, since you started being friendly again.”

Tamlin’s change in attitude had completely thrown Feyre for a loop, at first. About three months ago their routine had done a 180 and Tamlin had started loving her again. The stupid part was, after spending so long wishing for her ‘old Tamlin’ back, Feyre hadn’t recognized him for what he used to be. After craving genuine affection, the very act of kindness was startling and distressing.

Probably stupidly, Feyre had poked and prodded at the new Tamlin. Carefully careless, Feyre mentioned the new male cashier (who was old as dirt) and referenced him by name (Arthur, ew) in hope of getting a rise out of her husband. In spite of everything, (honestly, she didn’t try too hard since the last thing she wanted was a beating), Tamlin remained sweet, kind, and loving.

He took her and the kids to the park, playing catch with Lucien while she and Cassian sat and watched. They had a picnic, went swimming at the local pool; he went beyond making their family look perfect to an outsider, and for the last few months, their family had _felt_ perfect. Feyre could almost imagine the last eight years never happened.

Which is why Feyre had sent her brain into overdrive, thinking, pondering, and wondering why he changed, what was the cause?

“My children give me power over you.” Stated matter-of-factly, the tightening of Tamlin’s shoulders confirmed all Feyre needed to know. She continued. “When you and I were just a couple, both before our marriage and afterwards, I was wrapped around your finger. I loved you.” _Loved_ : past not present, not anymore. “I loved you and the perfect life you promised me. I opened up about my father and my sisters and struggling to survive; how, even as we were dating, even after I moved in with you, I was struggling to support my father in the apartment.”

It had been difficult. Although Cassian was completely there for her and insisted on paying most of the apartment fee as long as she did most of the cooking, Feyre’s job barely supported the meals she made for the both of them. At first she did it to keep up the façade that she wasn’t as poor off and able to be a good roommate, and then after Cass discovered her “daddy issues,” as he called them, she worked to keep her father comfortable. Moving in with Tamlin had required her to look for a new job, closer to her new home; and eventually Tamlin had requested she stop working.

She never quite accepted his “charity” while they were dating. Then, once she was pregnant with Lucien, any support he offered was minimal.

“I loved being cared for. You knew that. You knew all I wanted was a strong man who would love me and provide for me. Being sickeningly wealthy through familial relations and your work– well, clearly that was pretty easy for you.” She wondered how she could have thought he was ever making a sacrifice of love? “But you never really believed me when I said I wanted a family. Whenever we– no. Whenever _I_ talked about children and when and how many, you got quiet and looked away. I never noticed.” Her voice was raw, she searched his face for any reaction, but Tamlin just stared vaguely at her left ear while he continued chewing his rice.

Feyre sighed and took a long drink from her glass of water.

“I guess you thought you could change my mind. But Tamlin, you never offered to _know_ me. You thought you had me all figured out: a broken girl from a broken family; abandoned, alone, with no one to turn to. Who else would be better to cling to you? However, _I_ am a fighter, how else would I survive? Tamlin, _I_ am a _family_ girl.”

Broken though her family may be, Feyre remembered the good times, she remembered mother and father dancing in the rain after Elain came rushing in about the change of weather – finally, _finally_ her flowers would be happy again! She remembered father teaching Nesta how to carve soap after Nesta came home complaining about Brownie scouts and how they were doing knitting, and _‘my gosh, daddy, it is_ so _boring_.’ She remembered mother wiping her and Lucien’s hands off when they came inside for lunch after spending all morning on the swing set.

Every day she visited her father, Feyre saw the dried tear tracks and the photo album in a different place in his bookcase. Father remembered like Feyre remembered; she was sure Nesta and Elain remembered too. However, Feyre’s family never was very good at showing emotion and sharing their thoughts, especially not since mother died.

“Tamlin, I am a family girl because _despite_ my family being a complete and utter _mess_ , I know that my father _loves me_. I know that my mother _loved_ me. I know that should I _ever_ see Nesta or Elain again, the first things we will say to each other are: ‘ _Bitch, where have you been?_ ’ and ‘ _I love you_.’” Feyre choked up.

Regaining control of her breathing, Feyre went on. “When you saw the joy in my eyes when I told you about Lucien on the way, you shut down. Because you realized what I was. Tamlin, my family may be broken, poor, and scatted across the country – hell, maybe even across the world – but we are nowhere near as cold and unforgiving as your family is. You don’t know how to handle this, me, or the children. So you quit.” Unknowingly, by quitting on her, Tamlin had lost any power he had.

Feyre continued to fight him, she’d resisted and gone on walks and gotten a new job up until Lucien’s birth. Instead of allowing herself to disappear and become an ornament on his arm, Feyre had spit fire and ice until she could freely take Lucien out, joined a book club with other moms, bought groceries, and learned to cook more than a can of soup.

Lucien’s birth was only the beginning to Feyre’s daytime freedom. At night, Tamlin would rage, spew lies, and then take her to bed.

“My children freed me of you. Because now I can leave and have a reason to survive. When it was we three sisters, I lived for their happiness; then just father and I, I lived in the hope he would come back to me; now with my children: I will live forever. As long as they breathe, so shall I. And Tamlin,” Feyre’s voice lowered exponentially, a threat laced in silence. “You know that should you _ever_ raise a hand to one of _my_ children that I will not hesitate to do _everything in my power_ to destroy you, your company and business, and your future.

“That, I think, is why you’ve started being kind and seeing them for the pure souls they are. But,” Feyre glanced at her left hand that bore the wedding ring from forever ago. “I think you are too late. I know you lost your chance. Tamlin, I believe this should end now.”

There. Feyre had done what her heart longed for.

* * *

Feyre filed for divorce the day after Nesta was stillborn.

* * *

A wail from the next room over tugged Feyre back into consciousness. Her head throbbed painfully and she reached up to feel what was wrong. A sharp pain on her wrist halted her movement and she cracked her eyes open in alarm. Loose enough to prevent unnecessary strain on her limbs, she was bound to the bed with her old nightgown, torn to shreds by her husband’s rage the night before.

But why couldn’t she remember anything past that? She remembered the shredding and the yelling; she remembered his disappointed remarks on her body – _Really Feyre, you’ve gained weight. How did you even manage that? You haven’t been eating._ But past that… nothing.

Her head ached fiercely.

Another cry let loose from the room over and Feyre remembered what had awoken her. “Cassian!” She called out, pain forgotten as she struggled to reach her child. She couldn’t break free.

Hours later, Tamlin returned from work. Feyre’s eyes had dried up, her heart running rampant from the screaming child next door. Her wrists and ankles rubbed raw from constant chafing, blood staining the sheets.

At the sound of the front door closing, she began to wail loudly. “Tamlin let me _out_!”

Several minutes later he climbed the stairs and entered the room. “Are you ready to submit to me, my _dear_?”

“Never!” She snarled immediately. Feral anger filling her to the brim. “This _act_ you’re pulling will only end with you in jail for the rest of your _life_!”

“Oh?” He quirked a brow, “Mike seems to think I’m rather decent. When do you propose this will come about?”

She opened her mouth to yell back when Cassian decided to continue his wails again. Tamlin blinked slowly and Feyre felt herself freeze up when he turned to the door. “No! No, Tamlin look at _me_!” She shrieked, terror filling her.

A curved lip was her only reply as he entered Cassian’s room.

“ _Tamlin_ , come _back_! Leave _my child alone!_ ” She went crazy, yanking at the gown as strong as she could, shrieking obscenities at the _creature_ who dared enter her child’s room.  

* * *

Feyre packed her bags. With Cass and Luc buckled in the back, she drove to her father’s apartment. They moved in.

It was a tight fit. With Father spending every day in his chair, gently rocking back and forth and staring at the wall, Feyre and her boys were able to take advantage of the single bedroom. Two mattresses on the floor, neatly made every morning was the sleeping arrangement. Luc and Cass thought the new move was great fun, they weren’t in school and Grandpa was in the next room over!

Feyre wondered how long they could live like this. Tamlin knew where her Father’s apartment was. He’d met her divorce with stony silence and grudgingly accepted to separate. Feyre still feared a future arrival at the doorstep. Maybe a shadow waiting outside for her to leave. She was frightened.

* * *

“Feyre!” Tamlin called from the kitchen as she closed the front door behind her. “Did you remember to get milk? We’re almost out!”

“Of course, love.” Feyre replied, entering the room and placing a bag on table before her husband. Everything your heart desires is within the plastic bag.”

“Oh no Feyre.” Tamlin replied grabbing her hand. “While my stomach may desire the milk, the rest of me desires a person far lovelier than one-hundred five-star meals.”

Clearly Tamlin meant to be seductive, but all Feyre could do was laugh at his ridiculousness. “I _must_ have been doing something right! ‘The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’ is the supposed-general consensus of women worldwide.” She quoted. “If I’m getting you to say _I_ am far better than food itself– well, I’m _honored_.”

Tamlin chuckled. “Clearly, my dear, I haven’t told you how much I love you enough. Allow me to change that.”

* * *

Feyre ushered Cassian and Lucien to a small table in the back before heading to the counter to grab herself a coffee and cake for the boys. The man behind the counter gave her a small smile. “I saw your boys, they’re adorable.”

Startled at the attempt at conversation, Feyre glanced at the man’s nametag. “Well Azriel, you’re correct on that.” She flashed him a light smile, “They’re the best two boys a mother could ask for.”

“Quite.” He gave her a searching look, brow furrowed in thought. “I’ll bring your coffee over in a moment. I’m sure leaving the two of them alone much longer might challenge your claims.”

She thanked him with a small laugh and headed to the table her boys had chosen. Contrary to Azriel’s belief, Lucien and Cassian were quietly stacking the coffee creamers into a tower. Lucien greeted her with a quiet “Hey Momma” before taking the next creamer Cassian handed him.

“What’s that you’re making there?” She asked, scooting beside the two of them and tickling Lucien’s ear.

“Stoppit Momma,” he whined. “I’m focusing.”

“Luc is gonna build the _world’s_ _tallest tower_.” Cassian replied, dutifully handing his brother another creamer.

* * *

“Your voice is familiar.” Feyre quirked an eyebrow at him. “We must have met before.”

“Ah, no. I don’t believe so.” Feyre shook her head.

“Why do you sound so familiar?” Azriel leaned onto the back of a chair, thinking aloud. “I heard your voice a long time ago, it must have been around three or so years ago. You were calling about a ‘Tam,’ I think?”

Feyre stiffened. As a last attempt in desperation, Feyre had recited Cassian’s number from her memory, praying to whatever was above that she would not mix anything up. Cassian hadn’t answered the phone – rather a stranger had. Feyre fell into despair at that point, believing Cassian’s number had changed. She’d believed Tamlin had gone off the deep end, simply because he acted as if she didn’t exist; Feyre thought his (in)actions the absolute worst they could possibly be. She was very wrong.

Azriel seemed to take her posture as a yes, since he nodded once before continuing, “I hope you are doing better now than last time.” Feyre refused to reply. “I attempted to call you back after you hung up, but the call went straight to voicemail.” His voice was quieter, a query lilted the end of his comment, but he wasn’t pushing her.

Still, Feyre blandly replied. “I stomped my phone.”

“Hm.” Azriel seemed to consider Feyre’s closed-off expression; with her eyes facing the table, hands gripping the edge and shoulders quaking, he knew there was only one route to take. “Discretion is the best position to take in this matter, I suspect.” Cautiously, Feyre’s gaze met his own. She nodded. “As you wish.”

* * *

“You’re married?”

Cassian’s eyes glanced down at her own hand. “You’re not?”

“I left Tamlin.” She replied shortly, a warning in her voice to leave well enough alone.

Still he asked, “Why?”

Feyre bristled. After everything she went through over the past four years with Tamlin, the questions everyone should be asking is “ _Why not sooner?”_ not “ _Why’d you leave? You had a good thing going_.” Discovering he was cheating on her with Ianthe, a vague little petty slip of a woman came as a welcome relief. She couldn’t be mad at him for that, when out of everything she had excused him for, the cheating gave her a reason to leave. Let Ianthe go to the papers about abuse. Feyre wanted no part in the public eye. Perhaps leaving without reporting was cowardly of her, but then again, perhaps not. She and her children had been through enough, she saw no joy or retribution to gain in an endless trial from a justice system Tamlin would likely pay off. With her luck, he would just go free with little more than a few service hours.

She refused to feel weighed down by Cassian’s inquisition and instead flipped his question on him. “Why?” She gestured once more to his left hand.

“Because I fell in love.” He replied plainly.

A clear thought of bitter irony bloomed in Feyre’s mind. Cassian, who never wanted to settle down was now married and saddled to a woman; whereas Feyre, who wanted nothing else than a stable home and husband to raise a family with, was divorced after a long abusive marriage, barely supporting her two surviving children. Her youngest, who should have been due any day now, had been forcibly born a month too early from a beating enacted by Tamlin.

“Sounds lovely.” She managed to reply after a couple beats of silence.

The meeting between them was awkward and confusing. After their initial hug of surprised greeting, the old familiar closeness they once shared was eons away. There was too much bitterness and fear on Feyre’s part, and too little effort on Cassian’s for their interactions to be anything more than stilted.

Still, Cassian rubbed the back of his neck in an achingly familiar manner that Feyre gathered he was trying to think of a new topic to discuss. “Would you like to meet her?” He offered eventually. “My wife. She’s a hell of a woman and reminded me of you.”

“Oh Cassian,” Feyre murmured, an idea sparked in her head, she desperately wanted them to be okay. “You missed me so much you ended up marrying someone like me?” Bitterness crept into her following words, light as she tried to keep them. “Maybe you should have proposed first, I might have said _yes_.”

An easy grin settled on Cassian’s face at last, even as an arched eyebrow informed Feyre she had been unable to hide her bitterness. “Feyre, love, I never knew I wanted to marry until I met Agneyastra; otherwise, I promise, you were my first choice.” He sipped from the cup he held in his left hand.

Feyre’s mouth twisted at the name. “God, that’s a mouthful. Must be hard to yell during sex.”

Cassian snorted and choked on his drink. “Oh my god, _right_?” He cackled briefly. “But damn, Feyre, don’t let her hear you say that! She nearly twisted my balls off the first time we met.” His free hand went down to cup his groin in remembered pain.

Feyre grinned back, the easy banter falling into place. “Oh now this woman I have _got_ to meet! But seriously.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “She’s got to be super-hot to make up for a name like that.”

Cassian giggled a strange high-pitched squeaking sound he probably imagined to be ‘girlishly’ but only really sounded like a wheel that needed oiling. “Oh she’s hot. Straight ten out of ten; and she doesn’t go by the whole name, not unless she’s signing official shit, or whatever. She prefers to go by Neyastra; says the nickname reminds her of her past, which apparently wasn’t amazing, but wasn’t terrible either.” He sighed wistfully. “She’s so closed-off and mysterious. I do love me a good mystery. Her words are like a whiplash: stinging and cruel. Her spirit burns like a fire and her temper matches.

“I looked up her name once – actually, not long after the ball-twisting incident – and Agneyastra means ‘the fire weapon’ and ‘master of the flames’. A perfect match, if you ask me.”

“Wow.” Feyre mused aloud. “You definitely found yourself the right woman to keep you in line.” Cassian attempted a wounded look, but Feyre’s thoughts were on Cass and Luc at a daycare she’d found in the area. She chewed on her bottom lip. “For the next few days I have to get settled in. I recently got a job. I’ll need to impress the boss. Probably not the best time to make lots of new friends.”

Cassian nodded amiably. “Yeah no problem. She’s at work right now and I believe she’s preparing for a business trip as we speak. Speaking of business,” He checked his watch. “I’m _way_ late for work right now. I may as well call ahead and skip the day. I’d love to spend it with you!” He went to sling his arm around her shoulders, but Feyre took a neat sidestep to avoid him. “My buddy Az has the day off. Maybe we can wrangle him into a brunch. Maybe I can convince him to pay for my meal too!”

It really was a small world.

Feyre huffed a laugh, “Cassian, if you’re going to invite someone to hang out, you can’t make _them_ pay for _you_.”

“Clearly, my dear.” Feyre’s smile froze in place, the hair on her arms prickled as if bared to a stiff, cold wind. Cassian went on without noticing her shattered reaction. “When you meet Az, you’ll soon realize I can pretty much rope him into anything and get away with it.”

* * *

The job wasn’t really a top choice, if Feyre had her way. Being a high school dropout with two kids, no permanent address, and a hidden background meant she likely wouldn’t be getting her way anytime soon, though. So Feyre was grateful for the position and under-the-table income and tried not to let the despair eat away at her.

* * *

Uncle Cassian and Cass ripped around the apartment as Feyre sat curled up on the couch with a computer and a mug of tea, Lucien seated at her feet with Uncle Cassian’s Gameboy in his hands. Feyre was attempting to concentrate on handling her budget, but with Cassian-Squared roaring, laughing, and just generally being quite loud, she found herself watching their antics more than not.

Once the older Cassian (really, she needed another way to differentiate the two, _especially_ in conversation) found out she was in desperate need of a babysitter he welcomed her into his and his wife’s place, declaring Neyastra out of town for the foreseeable future and the _lot of you welcome to stay as long as you need!_ (The last one had been shot after a drug bust gone awry, which Cassian didn’t know about.)

They wouldn’t be staying long, but the thought was lovely regardless.

Then, of course everything had to go to shit in the short amount of time it took for Cassian to pick his car up from the shop.

* * *

Feyre was lounging on the living room floor, working on her work resume when the sound of the front door opening and closing broke her from her reverie. Chewing on the tip of her pen, she decided to tune out the sounds of Cassian dropping his keys and taking his coat off. She definitely wasn’t listening to the crinkling sound of bags which meant he had gone to the store and gotten more food, nope; and she wasn’t feeling bad about not getting up to help him–

“Cassian, I’m home!” A woman’s voice called out. Feyre jumped in shock; shit, his _wife_ was home. A wife who would undoubtedly react very negatively to a stranger lying on her floor.

She should probably send Cassian a text to let him know coming home soon would be a _very good_ idea.

Feyre closed her eyes shut tightly and hoped the woman didn’t call for Cassian anymore, otherwise she might wake Cass up from his nap in _Cassian’s_ bedroom; well, Cassian _and_ Agneyastra’s room. Hearing a light patter of footsteps, Feyre caught Lucien’s gaze from the hallway. The older boy had been reading in the room with Cass and most likely heard the unfamiliar woman’s voice. Sighing quietly, Feyre made a shushing gesture and beckoned him forward.

She smoothed Lucien’s hair over, making sure he looked as tidy as ever. Then after a quick kiss to his face, Feyre stood up. _Honestly_ , she thought to herself _, there is no good way to go about this. Oh hello, don’t mind me and my family squatting in your house; shall I help you with the groceries_? She walked to the kitchen and tried to think of something to start with. The woman was facing away from the doorway and was reaching into a cabinet. Her hair was dark and long, a strong set of shoulders belied confidence. She was also on the phone with someone, which explained how she hadn’t heard Feyre approach.

Lucien saved Feyre from starting the conversation with a loud sneeze.

The woman – _Neyastra_ – whirled around and grabbed the first item within reach: a bread knife. She brandished the utensil at Feyre and challenged her. “Who are you?”

“I am Lucien!” Before Feyre could say anything, her son stepped forward and positioned himself as if to protect her. Neyastra’s eyes flickered in recognition and curiosity, but Lucien continued. “This is my momma and you’re _not allowed_ to hurt her too!”

“Lucien.” Feyre chided softly, pulling him to her side. “I apologize.” She spoke to Neyastra. “I am a friend of Cassian’s; he invited me into his home until I could find my feet again.”

Neyastra’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I did not ask for an excuse; I want to know _who you are_.”

Right. Oops. Feyre backtracked and went to introduce herself. “My name is Feyre–” The woman’s eyes flickered in shock. “–Archeron.” There was a strange, almost comical, expression on the woman’s face. The left corner of her mouth twisted downward and her upper lip raised slightly in what Feyre could only describe as a _sneer_ , while her eyebrows were twitching rapidly, with eyes wide open. It was a very unpleasant expression, honestly. “Er, are you alright?” She asked, after several beats of silence.

Just then, the person on the other end of the line started squawking, demanding attention and answers to what was going on. Neyastra placed the phone on the counter, not bothering to hang up or reply to that person. “You’re lying.” She probed, instead, staring deep into Feyre’s eyes, searching for something.

“Uh.” Feyre stumbled over her words, not comprehending why her name was such a touchy subject. “Um no? My name is Feyre; has been my entire life, in fact. Why?”

“It’s just–.” The woman seemed at a loss for words. “Your name.”

Suffice to say, Feyre was very confused.

Then she paused, and looked closely at the woman before her. If the laugh-lines were removed, her face smoothed and narrowed more, hair shorter, eyes angrier… it couldn’t be. “You’re _here_ …?” Feyre finally asked, the truth dawning on her. The name was wrong, her age was wrong, but that piercing gaze could be no one other than _Nesta._

“I– yes.”

Feyre started to shake. _Anger or grief_? She wondered. Nesta _left_ her to fend for herself. She stole away with Elain and _never returned_. Abruptly Feyre turned away and tugged at her shirt. She felt her nostrils flair in response to her expression tightening. She couldn’t deal with this _family reunion_ right now. Not after just finding a place to call safe. She wanted to _run away_ , just as Nesta had done. She wanted to gather Cass and Luc in her arms, grab her bags, and flee. _Where was Cassian_?

Blast it. She didn’t need Cassian there. He’d tell her to calm down and _talk it out_ – there wasn’t anything they could talk out!

Her fire melted with the touch of a small hand. Lucien was looking up at her with worry. His lower lip was quivering, but it tightened into a line of determination when he saw her expression. The fire quickly replaced with an ache when he thrust his shoulders backwards and turned towards her sister. “You made momma cry.” Feyre was surprised to feel he was right, touching a finger to her cheek and drawing it away wet. “Stay away from momma.” He grabbed her hand and began to pull her from the room.

Nesta stayed in the kitchen, staring at the doorway with a lost expression on her face; her gaze was far away, locked on a distant past and the littlest sister she left behind.

Later that day, Cassian returned home to find his wife in the kitchen, nursing a cold cup of tea, and his houseguest curled up around her two children, fast asleep in the guestroom. Familiar as he was with Neyastra’s different moods, he didn’t ask what was wrong, but did explain the situation.

Later that evening, Feyre joined them in the living room. She said a quick hello to Cassian and then stared at her sister.

Minutes passed. Cassian felt very uncomfortable. Neyastra ignored Feyre so he supposed he could as well. Of course, at that point, Feyre spoke up. “You abandoned me.” She was still staring at Neyastra, so Cassian glanced her way as well, and saw her staring out the window. She tilted her head slightly, in a nod. “You said you would come back for me, once you settled; but you didn’t intend to.”

“No.”

“You promised you would come back.”

“I did.” Cassian looked as if he were watching a tennis match, his head rocking back-and-forth between the two of them. Wondering what in the hell was going on.

Feyre’s voice quivered. “You never even _tried_.”

“I did not.” Nesta’s tone was impassive.

Feyre shook her head in disbelief. All this time she struggled to survive, first with Father, then Tamlin, by herself with the boys… and this whole time, her only true friends and family had made themselves a little paradise. Nesta married Cassian.

That alone was a miracle. Angry, hateful Nesta, who blamed the tragedies of their family upon her father and took and took from everyone she could. That very same Nesta married the man who saved Feyre from her own insanity. Cassian. Oh Cassian, sweet, lovely, sarcastic Cassian. Who refused to take her shit and made an impossible pact to love and care for her where her father could not and would not – so similar to her own pact to care for her sisters and father. Eventually, the promise is forgotten and the words disintegrate to dust.

Nesta married Cassian. Cassian married Nesta. They both moved to Spokane – they never looked back.

And Elain, Feyre could only assume the middle sister was nearby, she was the only one Nesta ever cared for – running away with her as she did.

Feyre had never felt so utterly abandoned as she did just then.

A sharp bark of laughter hiccupped from her chest. She shook her head, eyes wild with disbelief and deep-rooted anger. “So that’s it, then. Here we are, all back together again.” Feyre choked on the words, refusing to allow the pressure behind her eyes to release. “I guess we will just continue on as we always have, huh?” She wheezed.

She ached.

Feyre couldn’t breathe.

That’s all Archerons ever did, hide their feelings and pretend everything was okay as they carried on.

“Feyre.”  Nesta finally spoke, even as she wrung her hands together. “I’m- I’m glad to see you.”

“Yeah.” Feyre replied, swallowed the pit of emotion and let the bravado fill her voice. “Me too.”

* * *

Feyre survives for her two boys.

She can see the scars of Tamlin in their actions and emotions. When Lucien snaps at Cassian when he’s tired or trying to get his way, she remembers the manipulation she fell for so easily. When she stays up late to cradle Cassian against her chest when the nightmares of abandonment plague his mind, she remembers her own cries and agonies over the inability to care properly for them.

Feyre never learned how to live, so she survives.

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting on an SD card in my belongings since before May, after I binge read ACOTAR series and as many fics I could. This is half of what I have written. I currently have another 5k ready and waiting, but am struggling over the last couple hundred words in it, trying to figure how I want a certain confrontation to go. 
> 
> I also have the ending of the fanfiction written already, it's just that middle-to-last bit I am trying to figure out. I will likely post it next week (Oct 28th onward) because I have finals this week. 
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts/criticisms. :)


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